Vagabond
by youmakemehappywhenskiesaregrey
Summary: Bucky wanders aimlessly between the Cap 2 and Cap 3. Old fic I'm finally posting. He meets an old soldier whom he didn't know but who's kind to him none the less.
**I know this is a little late to the party but I wrote it over a year ago after I saw the second Captain America movie. I actually started a couple fics but never posted anything and this was the first in a series of events I was going to write that I never got around to writing or posting but since I saw the new Civil War movie I thought why not post it. So here goes.**

David Leichtman was sitting outside. He'd had to smoke outside ever since the Legion Home had instituted a new smoking ordinance. Christ, for forty years he'd been allowed to smoke peacefully indoors and no one had ever complained. Then some big shot somewhere had read about an increase of lung cancer related deaths in veterans and told him he had to smoke outside. It seemed like everywhere he went people were telling him to quite. Hell, his six year old granddaughter had come home from school the week before in tears and begged him to stop smoking. He'd had to promise her he'd work on it and now he found himself sneaking out for a smoke whenever she was around just so she wouldn't burst out crying again.

As he leaned against the Home's wall, he scratched his back against the plastic weatherboard. He'd come out to the Post with his family for a picnic just as he had with his father when he was a kid. He remembered days when the whole family had gone out to the Legion Home to eat and meet with the other veterans families. Back then it had been his dad who was a member. His father had served in the Pacific theater in world war two. They'd even had his funeral reception at the Home. Hell, his father had been Post Master there. Of course that had been a while back. His father had been proud of his Post. He'd helped build a new building when they'd torn the original down.

Now that he thought about it there weren't too many people left who remembered the old building. And even fewer world war two vets. Most, like his dad had passed on. His generation, Vietnam and the guys from Korea were still around though. He thought it was funny how the old guys had never wanted them to join. The American Legion was just for world war two vets an old man had said to him once. Of course that guy still thought Harry Truman was president so he hadn't payed too much attention. As soon as he'd gotten back from Vietnam his father had taken him to the legion post for a drink. They'd talked some. He'd told his dad a few things he'd never told anyone since and they had reached a new understanding in their relationship. He'd always butted heads with his dad before that. But since the war it had been like his father suddenly respected him in a whole new light and in a way he had a new respect for his father. They understood each other better after that.

He didn't think much about Vietnam anymore. He never really had. It had just been something that had happened, sure it was hard for the first few years after he'd gotten back. Everything had seemed so surreal. The mail came at the same time every day and his dog barked at the mail man and his mother fretted about mending clothes and somehow kids riding around on bikes had felt strange and even wrong. Once he'd been standing out on the street talking to a friend and a couple of kids had rode by and he had had the sudden thought that, Christ, didn't they realize there was a war on the other side of the world? Didn't they know that people were dying? Didn't that register? Didn't they know what that was like? But no, they hadn't known because they were kids and that wasn't how life worked. That had been back in '70 when he'd only been back a few years and everything still felt so strange. And after he'd realized that as much as people thought it did, war just didn't mean the same thing to the people back at home. And anyway, how could it? That had settled his restlessness. He hadn't thought about Vietnam much after that.

As he stood in the sun, enjoying his cigarette he saw a man sitting at a picnic table a little ways away. The man looked ratty and he thought he might be homeless. That was unusual, they were in a small town. Homeless people almost never came out that far. He watched the man for a moment. He was hunched over like it was cold although the weather was nice. His ratty hair hung down over face and he was staring at the wood of the boards. Dave thought he might have been a veteran too. He'd seen a couple of the young ones who were homeless on the news. The man had the right kind of build and air. He watched him for a moment but the man at the table didn't move. He simply sat there staring at the wood. Finally, when he began to feel bad he approached him. "You um. .. you a vet?" He asked, conversationally.

The man looked up. He was young, early to mid twenties. He looked confused but he nodded.

Dave gave him an encouraging smile. "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

The man looked puzzled again. "I've been to both?" He said but it came out like a question.

Dave felt his heart lurch with sympathy, the guy wasn't all there and he sat down.

"You know, we're having a lunch right now. If you want to go in a get something I don't think anyone would mind."

The man looked towards the door and shook his head. "Too many people."

Dave nodded. "Well, yeah." He paused. "Well what's your name, anyway?"

The man paused. "James. . . but people call me Bucky." He looked almost startled at the answer he'd given.

"Well Bucky, I mean all veterans are welcome. We got a couple generations inside. Even old Elmer Burt and Wes Schult. Last two WW2 vets at the post." He pronounced it doubleyew doubleyew two.

At this Bucky looked up. "World war two?"

Dave nodded. "I don't think they'd mind talking to a young guy like you."

"Did you fight?"

Dave paused, the man's eyes looked a little lost. "No, my daddy did. I was in Vietnam."

Bucky's eyes drifted out across the yard and to the hills on the distance. "I was in Germany. . . and France. I was in Italy once too. . . I think. We went all over. The Nazis had us out numbered most of the time but we did okay."

Dave narrowed his eyes. He half believed the kid was taking the piss out of him but something in the guy's eyes stopped him from saying so. Maybe he wasn't full of shit, maybe he really believed all that. "I don't think you were in Germany, kid. You're a little young."

Bucky shook his head. "I shouldn't have been. I was too young. I was eighteen when the war ended. Someone said something about that once but nobody paid him any attention. I think by then it was too late. I'd been there too long."

Dave frowned. "Sit tight, I'm gonna go get you some food."

Bucky nodded and fell silent, eyes returning to the table again.

Dave hurried back inside to where the crowd of families and old men in ill fitting uniforms was eating under florescent light. He had a sudden remembrance of how everything had felt surreal after he'd gotten home from Vietnam. It felt the same. He quickly dished up some corn and mashed potatoes onto a paper plate, stopping to grab some of Mrs. Lutz's pie and Mrs. Wright's fried chicken.

He brushed his wife off when she asked where he was going. The two of them had that kind of relationship. If she really needed to know he would tell her and if she really wanted to know she would ask again and vise versa. She let him go, more interested in hearing about Mrs. Lang's new German Sheppard. He silently thanked her. He'd explain later. It was only fair to her that he did.

Outside he handed the plate to Bucky who was sitting watching a squirrel. "So, you were in Afghanistan?" He asked, trying for the truth again.

"I think. . . only for a little while." The man ate hungrily. "I mean yeah." He said after his second mouth full. He seemed to come out of his trance. "Yeah I was in Afghanistan."

Dave nodded. "How many tours?"

Bucky shrugged. "A couple." He ate more quickly. The food was good.

"Yeah? How long you been back?"

Bucky paused. "I don't know. Not long."

Daved nodded again. "Um, I hope I'm not being rude but are you okay?" It was a question he'd found best to be blunt about with some of the guys he'd come back with. Beating around teh bush didn't seem to ever get anywhere.

Again the man paused "Sometimes. . ." He said.

Dave waited for more but there wasn't any. "You had it rough then?"

A very quiet "Yeah.".

"Well you headed anywhere?"

"No. A little. I'm just. . . I'm lookin' around."

Dave nodded, thinking he understood. "You been anywhere interesting?"

"I left DC about a month ago. I took a bus here. Not much since then."

"You took a bus from DC all the way to Ohio?"

This time Bucky grinned. "Yeah. I didn't mind."

"Damn, where are you headed next?"

"I think I'm gonna head over to Indiana. I'm from there. I mean I was born there. I didn't grow up there."

"Where'd you grow up?"

"Military base in Virginia."

"You a military brat?"

A faint smile. "Yeah."

"Me too."

Bucky finished eating and put the plate aside, weighing it down with is fork. "Thanks for the food."

"Hey, we're big on community here. If you ever pass through again stop by and we'll give you another free meal."

Bucky nods and rises to his feet and it's the first time Dave gets a good look at the guy. There's something off about his hand when they shake. He thinks it might be a prosthetic. They shake and Bucky thanks him for the food again. On impulse Dave tells him to wait and goes back inside. He fills up a tupper wear container with food and comes back out with it. Bucky thanks him again, looking surprised. Dave grins and says he can keep the container. Kate Sauer will just have to get over her loss.

And then with a wave Bucky heads off down the road on foot. Dave can't help but feel for the kid. He hopes everything works out and no one gives him a hard time.

In his own thought Bucky feels a little better. He has some food inside of him now and he has some for later. He also feels a little better about calling himself Bucky. Since the museum he's been trying to make the name and the history feel right. Sometimes he does and sometimes he remembers things. Telling it to the man back at the Legion Home made him feel better.

 **So anyway, I don't think it fits super well with cannon these days but I wrote it before the new movie came out and so there's not much I can do without scrapping it. I just thought I'd post it to get it out there. I think the main point I wanted with this was to write a series of chapters of Bucky meeting ordinary people and them somehow connecting to him growing into the remembrance of himself, this chapter was supposed to be the start of him calling himself 'Bucky' again and all that. I had half a chapter of him meeting a chatty waitress written that was pretty fun but I dunno if I'll finish it. I think if I remember each chapter was supposed to be from a different person's point of view and I might right more for this but I don't know, just depends if I find the time and spark to do so.**

 **Well, thanks for reading. After rereading this myself I decided that I like it. I hope you guys did too. I used his comic back story in this rather than the movie not for any particular reason except it's what I was thinking of at the time. I probably could have changed it to New YOrk but I don't think it makes much of a difference to the story here and anyway, I'm from Indiana and nobody in anything is ever from Indiana so I kind of like it that he was born in Indiana in the comics. I dunno, I hope it didn't bother anyone.**


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